Good things come to those who take them
by Loveiswhatyouarelongingfor
Summary: Harry felt hatred. Hatred and pain and more that a bit of helplessness. Who would think to save the saviour? So... he had to do it himself. Blessed with a powerful inheritance and newfound determination Harry goes on his quest of revenge. But what if he doesn't only find vengeance but something completely unexpected? Dark!Harry/ Tom
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys :) I thought it was time for me to start on a Harry Potter fiction. This will be Harry/Tom Riddle since that's my OTP and also a Harry goes dark story. Please forgive any mistakes I overlooked, English is not my mother language. Feel free to ask any questions and to review. Have fun!_

_Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

Helpless … Completely, utterly helpless. That was how Harry felt every time his uncle's meaty fists descended on him. That was how he felt when his aunt Petunia just stood there and watched while her husband dragged him into the basement – what he felt when Dudley joined his father and brought his Smeltings stick with him. When he desperately attempted to make them stop, saying he was sorry over and over, when he felt his first bone break, then the second and they still went on, laughing at him and insulting him.

Hatred. That was what he felt when he thought about his relatives. While they used their feet to kick him in the gut and stomp upon his legs he couldn't help but think that he deserved better. He did everything Dumbledore wanted him to do; he was a good boy, the perfect Gryffindor, was he not? Dumbledore. Another surge of hatred for the man who left him here with the muggle beasts he ironically called his loving family. But Harry knew better. And he knew that Dumbledore knew better. His freaking Hogwarts Letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs! He didn't eat much and he knew that the house-elves reported unhealthy eating habits to the school nurse, ever since third year when she told Lavender Brown that her figure was healthy and she should stop starving herself.

He knew the house-elves must have reported to her how he did eat next to nothing every starting school year, simply because he couldn't stomach that much food anymore. Or how everyone who looked for it could see his bruised and battered skin or how he didn't grow properly because of the malnourishment.

So why was he still here, in his own personal hell? How come he had to do everything for this fickle wizarding world when they didn't do anything for him in return? When they left him here to –

Harry abruptly stopped thinking when a particularly hard blow landed on his head and he drifted into unconsciousness. The last thing he heard was Dudley's laughter. The last thing he felt was hatred.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Merry Christmas, guys! My muse arrived unexptedly and I wrote this chapter in about 10 minutes. And I got the outline for the next one ready, too! I'm sorry that you had to wait this long but I don't want to publish any rubbish chapters just to update something. **

**English is not my first language and I don't have anyone going over my chapters, so please excuse any mistakes. Also, I am always open to suggestions and I want you to feel free to ask me anything.**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 2**

Severus Snape was not a happy man by any means. Nevertheless, there were things in his life that brought him a certain amount of joy. One of these things was reading. The smell of old parchment and the way the fading ink made the letters shimmer in the light of the numerous candles in his room. Yes, one could say that Severus enjoyed reading very much. It was one of those occasions where he could flee the harsh reality of serving two masters, where he was free of the guilt of having killed his best friend, where he wasn't plagued by memories of the horrible things he had done in his youth.

He loved reading so much, in fact, that he became quite knowledgeable about a lot of different topics, most of them not even worth mentioning, silly little pieces of knowledge, not even properly fitting together, out of context, but a lot of them about the folklore and legends of magical mankind.

You see, Severus was a man who held onto the past, and how could he not when his future has been unclear his whole life?

So, at an early age, he started to accumulate books about past events, trying to pierce all of the facts together in an insatiable need to learn, to understand, to have control over one aspect of his life while growing up under an abusive parent. Still, one day came when he found himself lacking answers. It was a silly little problem, to insignificant for him to remember, but his cognizance, after frantically researching all the things that did not add up, was that there was another world behind all his history facts. A world where most of this so called facts where found upon nothing more than children stories, or tales that were passed down from father to son, from mother to daughter. Stories, legends, tales of old and almost forgotten events that made up (without too much proof one might add) the fundament of today's society's history as well as its outlook on present facts.

And this was, how Severus came to be a master in the field of magical folklore and legends. This was how Severus got dragged into yet another pet project of his master, which one was irrelevant, since both of them wanted the same thing at the moment. For him to decipher a strange symbol found in visions of both their Seers. Both of them seemed to have had exactly the same vision. He was shown both of them, only a few hours seperating his ventures into the pensives of his masters, but the visions, or more precisely vision, was ingrained into his mind in all it's horrifying glory.

_Two men, their faces covered by hoods, standing on a skyscraper in the middle of a muggle city. They were looking up, into the sky and seemed to be waiting for the sun to reach its zenith. When it arrived, both of them held up their left hands, a symbol burned into them. They began to chant, the ground underneath them aching under the onlaught of magical power, the buildings starting to shake, a little at first, then more and more, until they started to collapse. Both men chanted louder and louder, the symbol on their hands glowing a eerie violet, until the screams of hundreds of people drowned them out._


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: This chapter will be a turning point for Harry, creating a stronger character that Harry in the books. Which means that the guy will most likely be OCC (which he has to be to do all the things that I plan for him :D). I'm not sure about this chapter, it turned out very differently from what I first planned but I hope you'll like it as it is. **

**As always, feel free to ask anything and I thank those of you that reviewed the last chapter, it gives me a lot of confidence.**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 3**

Harry awoke to a faint buzzing in his head. He cautiously moved his body to determine the state his relatives left him in but surprisingly couldn't find anything wrong with himself, except from said buzzing in the back of his head. When he dared to open his eyes he was almost blinded by all the light. After a few seconds he tried again, only to find himself in a strange place.

He seemed to lie in a completely white room with very high arched ceiling with translucent glass planes in the middle, which explained the source of blinding light. Sitting up he noticed that the room seemed to go on and on and that he was currently on some kind of platform, the ground beneath him would be lower a few meters to the left and the right of him.

"Am I dead?" seemingly his main concern at this very moment.

"Of course not, silly. But I bet you'll wish you were when you wake up." Harry whirled around, startled by the sudden appearance of the voice behind him, only to find a pair of legs right in front of his face. Looking up, he found himself staring at a very beautiful but intimidating woman. She looked out of place, her completely black clothing creating a stark contrast against the white of their surroundings. Her midnight black hair was almost long enough to brush his head where he was sitting, but the most fascinating part of her was her eyes. Her right eye was a shockingly silver grey color, very familiar to Harry in its brightness, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out where he had seen this color before. The left eye was even more distracting, its color being something akin to neon green, even, dare he think it, the color of the killing curse.

"Are you done with staring?" She asked. "Who are you?" Was all he could answer, still befuddled with her sudden appearance. "Hmm, that is something you are not quite ready to know, but let's just say, right at this moment… I am your survival instinct."

"I…you–what?! My survival instinct? But I already have one? And what do you mean with 'I am not quite ready to know?' of course I am ready!"

But that seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as his words only seemed to enrage her. Her eyes narrowed and started to sparkle with maliciousness and outrage.

"You have a survival instinct? Really? Is that why you let yourself be beaten until unconsciousness, especially from creatures that are not even remotely as powerful as you are? Do you enjoy feeling helpless? Or are you simply stupid enough to believe that somebody will someday care enough to save you? Wake up, little boy! Nobody in your environment believes you to be anything other than their savior! You are already disillusioned with that stupid headmaster now don't let yourself die because you desperately want to hold on to the believe that anyone of your little circle of 'friends' thinks any differently!

The question you should ask is not who I am, but who _you_ are, Harry Potter! Who are you? Are you that scared little boy, sitting alone in the darkness, crying out for his parents? Are you a dead boy who cared too much about the opinions of people who do not matter, so much that he died for them? Are you the helpless boy that was beaten to death like a dog in the streets by those that were supposed to protect him?

Are you little, Harry? Are you small and not at all powerful? Since those are the things that you deem to be important. The opinions of small minded people, the continuing existence of powerless beings. If those are the things that are the most important to you, what does that say about yourself, Harry?"

Harry could practically feel how her words were poisoning his mind, he opened his mouth to reply, but she simply continued speaking, brushing his objections aside like one would do to a particularly annoying insect.

"You have so much potential! Part of your name means power; you were born in the seventh month, the most magically powerful number! Hell, you have the rune for victory burned on your forehead! You got powers transferred to you that were not even yours to have but you still absorbed them, creating your Slytherin side! Gods, just look at your mindscape!"

She made a gesture of looking at the room. "You are an almost untrained occlumens and yet you possess an already perfectly formed mindscape of bloody kings cross of all places. And look, over there in the corner."

All Harry could see was a black shadow in one of the corners, "That is your Slytherin side. You already absorbed it, it is a part of you, and yet you shunned it and isolated it, making yourself weaker in the process, just so it wouldn't sully all this white bullshit surrounding us! And look where it got you!"

Harry could barely keep up with all the information pouring out of her. But one thing became clearer and clearer, he apparently did not accept his own power and therefore brought himself in bad positions. And what about all this stuff about who he was? He knew who he was, didn't he? But did that mean she was wrong about him depending on people who did not appreciate all he did? Was he kept blind and uneducated in topics that should concern him? What if she was right, what if he could be… _more_?

"And you know what, Harry? I can see that you know that I am right. I can feel the change in you. You don't want to be helpless anymore, do you? And you wish to make decisions for yourself for once, I know. You want to start living now, I get that. And there is only one thing you have to do. Accept all of yourself. Absorb your Slytherin side. _Save_ yourself"

Harry noticed the shadow moving towards him while she spoke. It was right in front of him and seemed to be waiting for him to touch it. Harry knew in this moment that this was the first decision he would ever make for himself. And one of the most important. But before he could hesitate he heard a little voice saying

"_What could be worse than living like we do?_" And with those words, the shadow grabbed his hand, pulling him into its darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Hey guys, sorry about the long wait. I suddenly found the time to write at the same time my muse found me! Here is the new chapter, the next one is already outlined, I just have to write it down. Thank you for staying with this story, I did not abandon it, the moment I choose to do so I'll put it up for adoption, along with all my notes on where I would like this to go at the end. But that won't happen anytime soon! _

_As always, feel free to review and to ask questions and please forgive me if I overlooked any mistakes._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter_

**Chapter 4**

Harry awoke once again to a buzzing in his head. But this one was way louder. And more painful. As it was, almost everything was hurting him terribly. He realized that he was lying on the ground, the cold cement doing nothing to soothe the aches in his back. Groaning, he attempted to shift into a more comfortable position; only to notice that he couldn't.

Stumped, he tried to lift his arms only for them to meet a weird kind of barrier which felt like warm glass. Opening his eyes he realized that he couldn't see a thing - that coupled with the piercing scent of laundry detergent accosting his nostrils led him to believe that he was still in the basement. He started to push harder against the barrier, wanting to get out and quietly leave before his relatives remembered him, but nothing happened. Getting nervous he tried hitting the barrier and extending his legs to push against it with his feet, kicking it with all his might by now, which only resulted in a weird hollow noise. He froze abruptly, ceasing to breathe, listening if his relatives took notice of it.

His heartbeat and breathing accelerated when he really did hear footsteps coming down the stairs. When he heard them nearing the basement door he squeezed his eyes shut, fearing that his uncle came back for round two. The door opened slowly, as if to taunt him, and he heard the click of the light switch, then suddenly a high pitched scream.

His eyes shot open to look at his aunt, she was standing with her back to the wall, still screaming, a hand clutched over her heart, on the floor to her feet a laundry basket, its purple content spilled all over the ground. Wait… purple? Doing the Dursley's laundry for years made him quite acquaintanced with their wardrobes contents and he could honestly say that he'd never seen anything purple in this house. Looking back up at Petunia he noticed that she was purple as well…but his confusion didn't last long as the heavy footsteps of his uncle announced his arrival at the scene. Vernon, purple as well (but that was his natural facial color in his never ending state of fury), took one look at Harry, two steps into the room and bend down to retrieve a baseball bat from the ground that he apparently forgot there earlier. Then he ran the remaining distance between them (way faster than Harry ever expected him to) and, with a shout of "freak", hit the bat with all his might against the barrier. Harry, having only had time to close his eyes at the last moment, heard the resounding _thunk_ and - immediately after that - the sound of splintering wood. Opening his eyes he looked into his uncle's shocked face, the man was breathing heavily, still holding the end of the bat, the rest of it was now decorating the surface of Harry's barrier.

Petunia, apparently having found her wits again, grabbed her husband's hand and all but dragged him from the room, all the way hysterically shouting that she would contact the freakish headmaster of the freakish boy's freakish school to deal with this purple freak casket thing in her basement.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Hey guys, here is the new chapter. I try to update the next one soon, the plot is already laid out. As always, please bear with mistakes, I try to catch them all but I do not have a beta reader and English is not my first language._

_I would like to hear what you think about this chapter so feel free to review! _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

Harry began to panic. His relatives left the room about a minute ago and he still couldn't get out of this stupid casket thing! He noticed that his breathing was becoming more rapid, again he started to push against the barrier, he had to get out of there! He suddenly noticed that his hands were looking funny. His usually sun kissed skin turned a light shade of violet and his nails were long and purple… and his fingers were tangled with silken black strands. Tugging at them he realized that his hair had apparently grown really long.

He didn't even want to imagine what would happen if Dumbledore came to check on him only to find that he became even more of a freak than he already was. Tears started to form in his eyes and even those looked purple. By Morgana, what was happening to him? Why could he never be normal? What would they do to him, now that he looked like some kind of monster? Would they lock him up somewhere? He imagined himself sitting in a cage, his friends standing in front of the cell, disgusted sneers on their faces. Harry started to hyperventilate; his vision was getting dark, by now he could feel himself slipping into darkness…

Suddenly he was engulfed by a strange warm feeling. An unnatural calm spread through his body, ripping him out of his wallowing and he heard a voice whispering in his head: _Calm yourself. We need to think if we are to get out of here…_

Harry recognized with a jolt that the voice belonged to the girl he'd seen in his dream. Still a bit too addled to think about the meaning of hearing voices he decided to just go with it and to follow the voice's instructions. It seemed to want to get out as much as he did, so why not?

_Now Harry, you need to concentrate. Take a deep breath and imagine having your wand in your hand. Direct your magic into your hand as if you wanted to do a spell with your wand._

Harry listened and tried to calm down enough to concentrate on the feelings he usually had whilst performing magic. And sure enough, after a few tries a purple glow began to engulf his right hand. Running on instinct, he pressed the still glowing hand onto the surface of the barrier… after a few seconds a small crack appeared. Concentrating on wanting to get out, he began to channel even more magic into his hand and looked on as the crack became wider and finally big enough for him to fit through.

Once he was out of the casket, he realized that using this magic made him unusually tired. Sighing, he made to walk upstairs, only to be stopped by the voice.

_What do you think you're doing? We don't have time to get all your stuff. The Order will be here shortly and we should start to run, unless you want to be examined like a filthy animal?_

But what about his wand? Surely he couldn't leave without something to defend himself with?

_By Morgana, do you know nothing? You have obviously changed, which means that your wand will not recognize you anymore. Also, the thing is tainted by the ministry's trace, not an ideal thing to take with you when going into hiding, is it?_

Harry wanted to argue but the startling _pop_ of an incoming apparition convinced him to get a move on. He crept in direction of the basement window as fast as he could. Summoning some boxes from a nearby corner he started to stack them over each other to climb out of the room. He got up from the ground once he scrambled onto the grass and broke into a run, leaving Private Drive and passing Wisteria Lane and Magnolia Road he did not stop until he reached the local bus station. Crouching low behind some bushes he caught his breath. What should he do now?

_By the gods, quit being so stupid. You need to go into hiding but to have access to the magical world if you want to know what you are now. I don't have enough energy to babysit you all the time so do yourself a favor and start thinking! Since this is the last time I can talk to you today I'll help you along. You need to find your way to London. Quit being a stupid Gryffindor and find a way to survive, bend the rules if you have to._

And with that her voice vanished. Harry, choosing to listen to his "survival instinct" waited for a chance to steal some clothes, not wanting to call attention to his unusual new appearance. He did not have to wait long. One particularly unobservant muggle chose to set his backpack down right in front of Harry's nose. It was disgustingly easy to take the backpack and run into the next public loo where he changed into the new clothes. Going through the backpacks contents he hit the jackpot. Inside a side pocket was a bus ticket to London.

And so was it that Harry found himself in a London side ally not 45 minutes later. He was currently devising a plan of stepping out of the ally and into the touristy crowd to steal some money and to find himself a muggle hotel from where he could plan further, whilst trying to calm his conscience that he absolutely needed to steal to survive, when he noticed a group of four men coming his way. They were loud and rowdy, laughing with each other and joking around until one of them saw him and they all stopped to stare at him. Stepping back into the shadows he noticed that the side alley he choose was in fact a dead end. He was so preoccupied with planning and suppressing his guilty conscience that he didn't even notice his surroundings at all! He silently cursed himself as he noticed that the men were continuously coming nearer, their earlier mood completely changed. One of them stepped up to him, a disgusting leer on his unshaven face.

"Now look at that! What do we have here. Are you lost, sweetie? Don't worry, we'll show you the way. But first, how about some fun, eh?"

The others behind him snickered. Harry quickly stepped out of the corner and made to run, only to be pulled back by his hair. He cursed and started to struggle.

"Let me go, you asshole! Who do you think you are!" He turned around and started to hit the hand holding his hair, frantically trying to get free but suddenly one of the others was behind him, holding him tightly against his chest. He reeked of strong alcohol. "Now, pretty. Don't be like that. I promise you'll like it. You look like a little slut anyways, strolling around dark alleys in the middle of the night. You're really asking for it, eh?"

Harry was getting really afraid by now. The other men were stepping closer, too. He tried to punch and kick against the one holding him, struggling to get free. When that didn't work he tried to scream, which resulted in a hand being pressed over his mouth, muffling his frantic pleas for help but also cutting off his breath. Still struggling he tried to dislocate the hand cutting of his air supply, scratching it and causing a noise of hurt, but the man only pressed harder. He could feel the blood of the man running down his face and dripping onto his neck. The other two had joined them now, one helping to hold him down while the other was stripping of Harry's shirt. Panic build in Harrys chest, he screamed as loud as he could trashing around with all his might even though the lack of air made him dizzy, he felt as though something wanted to burst out of him and screamed again, but it was for naught, amongst his struggles and the chuckles of the men, Harry fainted.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Hey guys, here's the next chapter. I hope you'll like it as much as the last one. As always, please forgive me my mistakes, I try to catch them all but I'm sure one or two did find their way inside. Feel free to review and to ask any questions. I'm already working on the next chapter, I'll try to update soon!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter_

Harry awoke slowly, as if coming out of some kind of trance. He brought his hands to his eyes, to rub away his sleepiness but noticed that they were covered by some sticky substance. Opening his eyes he looked down only to find them painted red by what looked like blood.

Suddenly, he remembered. He remembered being alone in the alley and getting cornered by some older men. He remembered being absolutely terrified and that strange feeling in his chest, as if something wanted to burst out of it. He remembered struggling against their strong grips and hearing their cruel chuckles when he screamed for help. Suddenly feeling panicked again, he sat up abruptly and gasped. There, not one meter in front of him, laid… a severed hand. Shaking, he turned around to observe his surroundings, only to encounter more and more severed body limbs, legs, a torso… and finally the severed heads of his attackers. They were directly behind him, neatly put into a perfect line, their eyes staring at him even in death, their faces frozen in tormented expressions.

Harry stumbled onto his feet and took a few steps away from the heads. The motion seemed to be too much for his stomach and he quickly bowed over some trash cans to get violently sick. All the while his brain seemed to finally catch up with him. _What the hell happened? Who or what would do something like this? They couldn't have raped me, I feel completely fine… but why would someone or something kill them and leave me spared? And… why are my hands so bloody?_

Again, he looked upon his bloodied hands. He noticed that the claws that he gained at the Dursley's seemed to have vanished. He also didn't see everything in that weird shade of violet anymore. His hair was still long, though. This meant that he could finally get into the wizarding world! His hair was long enough that people wouldn't recognize him, especially since he seemed to have lost his trademark glasses somewhere along the way from the Dursley's. Looking more human would play to his advantage for now; at least until he could figure out what the hell happened to him in the first place. For the moment, he just needed to leave this alley before someone saw the scene and caused a ruckus. Looking he noticed that his torso was sprayed with blood; he remembered the men stripping his shirt off and found it lying in a puddle of blood a few feet away. Turning to the corner, he picked up his stolen backpack from where he put it down before the men entered the alley earlier that night. He recalled that he previous owner had a change of clothes packed in it. After he changed into something a bit less bloody he noticed that he was still left with one problem. His lack of money.

Inwardly shuddering, he started creeping towards the body parts. Surely his attackers would have some muggle money on them? It was when he was patting down the trouser pockets of a severed hip when he noticed something. Embedded in the flesh of the thigh, directly under the jeans pocket containing the man's wallet, was a single _violet claw_…

Harry's eyes grew huge when realization hit him. He straightened up and turned back to the scene, and took a few steps back, the wallet still in hand. There was no third party swooping in and rescuing him from his would be rapists… he recalled the feeling of something wanting to burst out of his chest…he woke up covered in blood with their limps lying around him in what looked like… a geometrically perfect spiral…_ he_ was the one who killed them! Completely freaked out, he turned on his heels and ran out of the alley.

After running for what felt like 10 minutes straight he suddenly heard the voice again. _Stop, Harry! Don't have much strength…. Find place to stay… Go…Knockturn Alley…listen this time…_

Seeing how the events turned out for him when he did not listen to "survival instinct's" guidance, Harry decided to heed the advice. Calling a cap with the stolen money he found himself out of the Leaky Cauldron not 20 minutes later. Whilst walking though the pub, he even managed to steal one of the patron's cloaks which were hanging on a coat rack next to the entrance. Hidden by the black hood and the half-light of the early morning hours he managed to get into the alley by tapping the bricks with his fingers and to find a place to stay without being bothered by the few other people haunting the area this early in the morning. By the time he made it to his room he was exhausted. He fell asleep the very moment his head hit the pillow.

A few hours later, Harry awoke to the sound of shattering glass, followed by a terrified shriek. Bolting upwards into a sitting position he surveyed the dingy motel room. In the corner next to the door was a house-elf.

"M-m-Mixxy is being very sorry, sir, Harry P-p-potter, sir! I is d-doing the cleanings, s-sir! If Mixxy knows that M-m-master Harry P-p-potter sir was being one of the _mothers chosen…_ Mixxy is very s-s-sorry, Mixxy is breaking m-m-aster Harry Potters vial…"

Harry held one of his hands up as gesture to get the house-elf to stop talking. It was clear that the poor thing was completely horrified at having broken something… but wait, what vial? And what did it say about him being a _chosen _or something? Harry opened his mouth to ask his questions but, the creature took one look at his risen hand, let out a frightened shriek, and disappeared from the room with a loud '_pop_'.

Harry sat on his bed, completely confused. He tried calling the house-elf to get some answers, only to give up after his fifth attempt of calling "Mixxy". Since he couldn't get any answers from the creature he would have to find himself some other help. But, who could he trust? Dumbledore and his glorious order have proven themselves to be completely unreliable and he couldn't go there seeing as he suspected himself to have killed four muggles… and any other people he knew would or could take him straight to Voldemort. Putting that question aside for some when after breakfast he decided to unveil the mystery of the broken vial. On the ground next to a little stool was a broken vial, clear liquid that looked to be water was spilled around it. Apparently, the vial had fallen out of one of the cloaks pockets; he left it over the stool when he disrobed the night before. Bending down and sniffing at the liquid, he quickly deduced that the vials contents were indeed Veritaserum. But who would sit in the Leaky Cauldron, very early in the morning, carrying a vial of a potion whose possession has to be approved by the ministry? Now curious, he began to go through the cloak-pockets, looking for clues on its owner. The other pockets were completely empty, apart from a letter which he found in a concealed inside pocket. Opening it, Harry found that it was spelled and he couldn't read the content, but the envelope was clearly addressed to:

_Mr. Severus Tobias Snape_

This was it! Of course! The only one who he could trust not to completely screw him over was the only Slytherin he knew who was not firmly on Voldemort's side! He would simply have to think of something he would give him in return, something he wouldn't be able to resist…..


	7. Chapter 7

_**AN: Hello guys, here is an update! I am sorry for the long wait, live got in the way! I still have not given up on this story and I made a lot of progress in developing my timeline and key events! As always, please forgive any mistakes I overlooked and feel free to review and to ask questions! I hope you like this chapter! :)**_

An annoyed sigh made its way past Severus lips as he let himself fall back into his favorite armchair. Absentmindedly, his right hand made its way over to the little side table next to him to fill a tumbler with Ogden's finest, (a belated birthday present from Minerva, who was so unnerved at having forgotten his birthday that she wouldn't hear his repeated decline of any present whatsoever; especially since he spend said birthday under an unusually strong notice-me-not charm to avoid any occurrences like that) which he immediately brought to his lips.

He had just returned from two very different meetings of his not too very different masters. _What trouble has the brat gotten himself into now? – _was his first thought after receiving an urgent summon to the orders headquarters to discuss a topic concerning the Potter-brat. He was just sitting at a pub in London, wanting to enjoy a bit of homemade food and his Potions Monthly after having picked up an informants response to his enquiry about the symbol in those visions, when Dumbledore called. He did not even have time to grab his coat!

Upon arriving at Grimmauld Place (Severus had problems understanding why they would still use the desolate home of the flea-bitten mutt when it was obvious that the building it-self didn't want them to be there…) it didn't take long for him to assess the situation given the expressions on everybody's faces. Most of the Order foot soldiers (or filler members soon to be cannon fodder, as he liked to call them) seemed completely clueless, whereas the Weasley brood (who actually had the gall to leave their architectural catastrophe of a house to tastelessly live in the remains of a once proud and noble house who's members would rather have suffered hours of torture than to have their midst infested by blood traitors just mere days after their last direct blood-heir passed…) looked slightly concerned to maybe vaguely terrified. Moody looked as grim as ever and the wolf was, as usual since Blacks death, not present.

Shifting his gaze to Dumbledore, he reinforced his occlumency barriers before trying to get a read on the annoying old coot who he had sworn to help to kill just days ago. On the outside, the headmaster looked like his normal, benevolent self. But right behind the merry twinkling of his eyes, Severus saw worry. Oh, certainly not any kind of concern for the Potter kid, but worry about the well laid plans the elder always seemed to be scheming. Severus had spent more than enough time in this man's confidence to know his opinions on the Potter kid and a very big proportion of the coot's plans. Another perk of always being there to listen to his rants was that he learned all of Dumbledore's little tells.

And, according to the impatient look he was given, he correctly deduced the following. Harry Potter was currently missing. That was the only situation concerning Potter that would be of any importance (except his death, but he didn't see the little redheads sobbing now, did he?). It was obvious that something must have happened at Privet Drive to alert Dumbledore enough to go investigate and to take Alastor with him, which explained why that one was already informed. After finding his savior missing, Dumbledore's first move would have been to send Alastor to observe the vicinity for any clues about Potters whereabouts. When he found none he would assume the kid to have gone someplace where he would feel safe, to the Weasleys. This explained their current state of information because if Harry Potter was not at home, and not with his friends, he was currently MIA. The boy always had limited access to any places within the wizarding world and the headmaster had no reason to suspect that the boy would voluntarily go to unknown places; which made him think that their savior was kidnapped… which was the reason for Severus summon here, because surely, their spy on the dark side would know if the Dark Lord had finally managed to capture his nemesis?

Well, Severus sometimes thought he should be sorrier to disappoint.

After about ten minutes of completely useless interrogation and repeated assurance that "no, he surely didn't hear anything about the boys whereabouts" and "yes, he was going directly to the Dark Lords lair, to investigate the situation and maybe stage an escape plan for the brat" he was finally ready to go and disapparate into his Lord's study.

His Lord was strangely absent minded that day, he actually forgot to torture Severus when he just appeared in his masters study. After a thorough report Severus deemed it safe to assume that the Dark Lord did not have Harry Potter in his clutches. When he was simply told to "go and find the brat, Severus, and bring him here", he made his way home to pray to the ´gods of strong spirits` to give him enough patience to go and deal with Potter. By now, it was his fourth glass in, and Severus did not yet seem to have found any kind of motivation to go and look for runaway teenagers. _Surely,_ he thought, _the brat could wait a few more hours; at least until I have slept a bit… _resting his head on the backend of his armchair, Severus closed his eyes to blissfully drift into slumber…

… Only to be rudely awakened by a bird beak pecking into his nose. _Blasted bird! _He thought furiously and batted with his hand at the offending avian, in hopes to get it to back off. His bleary eyes spotted the owl, now patiently waiting on his armrest. Tied to its leg was a little scroll of parchment. Unraveling it, his eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline.

The gall of the brat! Summoning him like he was some kind of dog, or Merlin forbid, a Hufflepuff, running to his help at his convenience! Nevertheless, the boy would see where it got him, when Severus dragged him back to one of his masters, preferably by his ear (Severus had not yet decided to which of his masters he would bring Potter, but he guessed his promise to Lily would end up winning once his ire diminished a bit). Getting up, he grabbed a sober up potion on his way to the coat rack. Putting his spare coat on in a dramatically twirling motion, he used the movement to disapparate into Diagon Alley.


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: Hey guys, here is a new chapter. This chapter and the next one will give a foundation for the whole storyline so please bear with the lack of "action". As always, please forgive any mistakes I overlooked and feel free to review this chapter! Have fun!_

After having found the dingy motel in which the brat currently lived, Severus approached the reception desk, or rather, the moldy piece of broken plank manned by a shivering house-elf. It was just time for noon break, which explained the absence of any real staff. "Elf!" Severus snarled, "where is that Potter boy?". The creature flinched at the first sound he made, turning its big teary eyes in his direction. Still shaking, it managed to hop onto its feet and started to walk down a corridor to the left, turning a few feet in to look back at him, clearly wanting him to follow. Severus, quite unnerved by this unusual behavior, discreetly drew his wand and followed the house-elf down two different corridors and up a flight of stairs until they stopped in front of a door. The elf shivered, clearly not willing to go any further, nodded at Severus and promptly turned on its heel to walk back the way they both came from.

Severus, never having been one to beat around the bush, shoved the door open and let himself in without further ado. Inside a room that had clearly seen some better days, stood a young man staring at himself in a floor length mirror. His skin was almost deathly pale and seemed luminescent in the dim light the closed window shutters let into the room. His small stature and lithe figure was accentuated by his long black, silky looking hair that reached until his waistline. The most remarkable thing though was his face. Such aristocratic and classically beautiful features, almost androgynous, that would not have been misplaced on a porcelain doll. But that expression on his face… that completely _dumbfounded_ expression… clued Severus into the identity of said young man. Well that and the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

"Potter!" he barked, nostrils already flaring. "What kind of idiotic trouble have you gotten yourself into now?" the boy startled, not having noticed his presence until now. Frightened, he turned around, reflexively ducking and holding his hands up, as if to stop a blow to his head. And there, glowing purple on the palm of his left hand, sat a familiar symbol. Severus whole body tensed as he looked right into the boys' eyes. "Tell me everything."

And the boy did. Even down to the last gory details of the dead bodies of those muggles. Severus, after having listened to the whole story, decided that it would be too risky to bring the boy to any of his masters considering the life debt he still owed the Potters. On the other hand, he knew that the symbol on Harrys palm meant that the boy would be powerful enough to bring down a muggle city… which clearly put him on the dark side of this war. A dark side which was currently lead by an insane dark wizard that wanted to see the boy dead. An insane dark wizard that Severus was currently enslaved too and that no one could hope to challenge power-wise. Exept maybe the prophesized child sitting in front of him that just got a new powerful symbol on his hand…_ a power the Dark Lord knows not ?…_ well…never let it be said that Severus was not a Slytherin, and what are Slytherins if not opportunists?

"Potter, whilst it would not be the first sign that you are mentally challenged, I am quite sure that hearing voices and blacking out only to awake in midst of carnage of body parts does not sound quite sane. I am considering helping you. The animalistic changes you mentioned do point to some kind of creature inheritance. This is a matter that should be discussed with Gringotts, since they are the only ones capable of tracing your blood legally. We will go and visit the goblins, afterwards we will maybe have some more clues on how to act further on and why the symbol on your hand seems to terrify house-elves. The point is, after having killed four people you can no longer be classified as a light wizard, especially if the magic you used was emotionally motivated like it was due to your panic. However, due to you being who you are, you do not have the possibility to simply switch sides to save your sorry hide from the Order and the ministry. This makes you an outcast in this conflict with both sides coming after your blood." Severus paused dramatically, making his voice take on softer tone on the next part, going in for the kill.

"Fortunately for you, I would be willing to protect and you… provided that _you_ would be willing to build your own side and to actually try to survive this war. I would be free from Dumbledore and the Dark Lord and still hopefully on the winning side in this conflict and you would get my guidance, protection and intel to assure said win in return. Are those terms acceptable?"

Severus could clearly see that the boy realized he had no choice in this matter. If he didn't want his help he wouldn't have asked him to meet him in the first place. And Potter actually knew that he could not turn to either side, as proven by Severus presence in a motel in Knockturn Alley. The potions master was actually quite surprised that the brat was capable of thinking things through enough to have realized his current situation and to have acted accordingly. He was even more surprised when the brat put his hand out in order to create a magical contract between them by accepting Severus conditions, his green eyes showing a cunning glint in them.


End file.
